Denial (Careless Whispers #1)(7)

In disbelief, I ask, “That’s my medical treatment? A journal?” I take it from him, my brow furrowing with a memory that’s here and then gone, leaving me frustrated and ready to throw the darn thing. “How is this supposed to help me?”

“It’s one part of a treatment plan they intend to present to you on Monday.”

I set the journal on the bed, rejecting it along with the “treatment plan.” “They seem to believe that your brain is suppressing memories to protect you from some sort of trauma.”

“Leaving me homeless and without a name?” I ask. “That’s a horrible way to protect myself. And I don’t even have memories to write in it.”

He shifts on the bed, his hand settling on my leg. It’s a strong hand, the hand of a man who knows what he wants and goes after it, while I know nothing at all. “Maybe if we talk, it’ll help.”

“That’s no different than writing in the journal. I can’t talk about what I don’t remember.”

“My memories might stir yours.”

I sigh. “Okay. But it would be so much easier if there was a pill for this kind of thing.”

His lips hint at a smile. “Most of us would agree with that at some point in our lives. Why don’t we talk about the night you were mugged?”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” says an unfamiliar male voice.

My attention shifts to the doorway, where a man in his mid-thirties leans on the doorjamb, his suit and dark brown hair a bit rumpled and his tie slightly off center.

“What the hell are you doing here, Gallo?” Kayden demands, shoving off the bed to face him.

“My job,” the man states, striding toward us. While his features are too hard and the lines of his face too sharp to be called good-looking, there is something about him that refuses to be ignored, and he stands at the end of my bed, fixing me in a steely gray stare. “I’m Detective Gallo. I hear you were mugged, and I want to ask you a few questions.”

“You don’t handle muggings,” Kayden points out.

“I do when your name’s on the report,” the detective says shortly. It’s pretty clear these two don’t just know each other; they don’t like each other.

“Of course,” Kayden replies, sounding amused. “Because I’ve broken so many laws.”

The detective is not amused. “Just because you haven’t been caught doesn’t make you innocent.” He gives me a pointed look. “I’m guessing you aren’t Maggie.”

I blanch. “What? I . . . no. Or . . .” I look to Kayden for help. “What is he talking about?”

“He’s being a smart-ass,” Kayden states. “I registered you under that name and told them you were my sister.”

My brow furrows. “What? Why?”

The detective takes it upon himself to answer. “Because it gave him access to you.”

“Exactly,” Kayden confirms, offering no apology or explanation.

He doesn’t need to, and yet I want more. More what, though? I don’t know. Just . . . more.

“At least he put you up in the ritzy end of the hospital,” the detective points out, demanding the attention again, and making a big show of glancing around the room. And as obviously intended, I follow his lead, and for the first time since I’ve been lucid, I look at it, as well. Really look at it—and realize it’s larger than expected, with a sitting area to the left and a mini kitchen.

I look at Kayden in shock. “How much is this costing? I don’t even know if I have a bank account, let alone money to pay for this!”

“Don’t worry about money. I have this,” he says softly.

“You mean you’re paying my bills. Kayden, I can’t let you do that. I don’t know if I can pay you back.”

“Let him pay,” the detective interjects. “He’s got a boatload of cash. But I do have to say, his registering you under a fake name, on top of the upgraded security in this wing of the building, does make it damn hard for anyone looking for you to find you.”

“The staff know to direct any inquiries that might fit your description to me,” Kayden assures me, flicking the detective an irritated look. “Obviously—since you found her.”

“I found you, not her.” He looks at me again. “And I’d ask for your real name to connect a few dots, but I understand that you don’t remember it.”

“That’s right,” I confirm, resisting the urge to fidget, like I have something to hide, when I don’t. Do I?

“What do you remember?” he asks.

“Nothing before the moment I woke up here.”

He arches a brow. “Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even the actual attack?”

I shake my head.

“I see,” he says, stroking his clean-shaven jaw. “I was hoping the actual attack wasn’t a part of your memory loss.”

“I’m completely blank, Detective, and it’s really quite terrifying to think about being in that alleyway, passed out and alone. I’m thankful Kayden was there to get me help.”

“Right.” His hand leaves his face, and he grips the railing at the foot of the bed. “That was lucky.” His gaze lands on Kayden. “Not often a real hero comes along.”